1628
by loathsome child
Summary: There were one thousand six hundred and twenty-eight cracks in the ceiling. L knew this because BB had helped him count them. Psychological fic. AU. REVISED.
1. Cracks

**Basically, this is my revised edition. I combined what were chapters one and two and put them together for the first chapter, and have continued on from there with my second chapter. I did this because I originally wanted this fic to be a three-shot, and I didn't want to mislead anyone into thinking it was going to be multi-chapter. **

**That being said, there will be three chapters and an epilogue. Thanks.**

**A/N**: I have a lot of explaining to do for this fic, and it's very important, so please read this. First, Beyond Birthday is a main character in this fic, so it would be beneficial, if not necessary, for you to have read _The Los Angeles B.B. Murder Cases_. Secondly, both L and B went by the name Ryuuzaki as one of their aliases (this is very important). Lastly, this is the first chapter of a two or three part fic, so don't be surprised that it cuts off pretty abruptly at the end.

That's all. Please read and enjoy!

**CRACKS**

There were one thousand six hundred and twenty-eight cracks in the ceiling. He knew this because BB had helped him count them. L liked the cracks. It didn't matter whether he started counting from the corner by his bed or the very middle of the ceiling. There were always one thousand six hundred and twenty-eight of them.

L liked things he could be sure of. He liked things that stayed the same. It comforted him that 7x + 15 - 2x(squared)= 0 had a strictly positive discriminant of D = 169, because that was that, no questions asked. And that would always be that.

Before, time had fascinated him: The fact that you could proverbially plot your life down to a millisecond, that each day was a point on the line, solid and substantial. But now he had no way of knowing what time it was. If there was a window he might've known that it was morning, or seen sunlight, or maybe felt warmth not artificially assembled like so much store bought machinery.

It was too cold here anyway.

Everything was white. Not white like one would expect to see, blinding with too bright lights and perpetually exhausting to the eyes. Just a dirty sort of off white, acquired not from neglect or lack of sanitation, but from a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Only harmless memories.

There was a bed in one corner, with white sheets and a light blue blanket. Near the bed was a bathroom with a shower, sink and toilet. It had a door, but it didn't lock. There was a desk as well, located in the corner perpendicular to the bed, as well as another door too, but it was closed.

Didn't open from the inside anyway.

Then there was the ceiling and the cracks, all one thousand six hundred and twenty-eight of them. And in the last corner, the one diagonal to the bed, there was B, at least at the moment.

L was in the corner too, talking to B. Ever since they had taken away his cases he liked to talk to B. It was because a sort of stagnant quiet lived in places like these, but more cloying and motionless. And there was no one but B to save him from the silence. Otherwise he'd be left choking and inaudible.

"Ecru," L proclaimed. He was sitting with his knees bent to his chest, hands wrapped around his calves, rocking back and forth a little on his heels as he spoke. Across from L, firmly in the corner, sat B in much the same way. His posture was more exaggerated though; spine curled forward so he was hunched up and doubled over. L seemed relaxed and comfortable, B seemed tense and awkward. There was hardly a difference in the two's appearances. Looking at each other was almost like looking in a mirror. They both had the same black hair, long and shaggy and wild, and in desperate need of a brush or something of the like. They both had the same pale faces, pallid skin, thin lips and deathly, gaunt slenderness.

The eyes were where the difference lay. L's were almost comically large, so large they were gripping and impossible to tear your gaze away from. Both the pupils and the irises were a deep black, void of any emotion whatsoever, and he seemed to have the uncanny ability of going for minutes without blinking. Making eye contact was like having your soul searched and laid bare, or a final judgment without mercy. B's eyes had the same comical wideness and intensity, only they were almost more gripping than L's. The irises were an unnatural, vermillion color and disturbing, and lack of sleep had marked the spaces beneath them gray.

B glanced around the room and stared back at his idol. "I'm rather sure it's more of a beige," he intoned, pushing his thumbnail nervously against his teeth.

L shook his head. "Beige is too light, B." He uncurled a hand from around his knees and traced it across the walls of their prison. "See the stains? They're darker." He curled his hand back around his leg and steadily regarded his friend. "Ecru, to be exact."

B nodded in agreement. If L said so, it was true, because L was truth. B liked L, but it didn't stop at admiration. It was more of an idolization, an obsession. And there was a dark part of B's soul, a part that knew the more he was with L the more he'd become like him. And soon B would take him over, and there wouldn't be an L. No, there would only be a B, a B more perfect, a B more flawless. The thought made him shudder in delight.

Right now L was watching him, head cocked slightly to the side. His eyes were hardly narrowed, but they were narrowed none the less, watching him with curiosity and suspicion. Like prey.

It was times like these, when L would look at him so intensely, that B thought L could read his mind. It made him scared to think, and those dark, penetrating eyes haunted him in his sleep.

"How many stains are there, B?" L asked. He seemed to have deemed B safe and was now leaning back on his heals; head tilted all the way back so his untidy black hair fell in heaps down his back. He opened his mouth and yawned.

B shrugged. "Just as many as there are cracks, I'd imagine."

B glanced up and L stayed tilted back and they both gazed up at the ceiling. The cracks began to spread from the center of the ceiling like a myriad of spider webs, growing and twisting complicated designs before their eyes. L hummed in satisfaction.

"You start counting from the corner by the bed and I'll start counting from here."

B nodded. At first it had been hard to count, because the cracks were constantly moving, refusing to stay still. However, he had soon developed a way of keeping track of the cracks which had already been counted. B put a red slash through them with his red eyes. L put black slashes through his with his black eyes. It worked well.

Soon, the ceiling was covered with red and black slash marks. When there were no more unmarked cracks the two turned their attention back to each other. "How many?" L asked.

"Eight hundred fourteen," B responded. "And you?"

"The same," L intoned, and proceeded to add the two numbers in his head. There was really no need, they both knew what the results would be, what they always were. But it was routine, and it was comforting.

"One thousand six hundred and twenty-eight," L announced happily. A glimmer of a smile shone on B's face.

"C'est parfait, n'est-ce pas?"*

Before L could respond the noise of someone sliding their ID card into the slot on the other side of door sounded, and it slid open with a mechanical clicking sound.

* * *

About an hour earlier, Naomi Misora had sat at the desk in her office, reviewing the paperwork of her most recent patient. In the right hand corner of the first sheet was the photograph that had been taken upon intake. Naomi glanced over the photo and then did a double take. He was the strangest looking person she had ever seen, with wild black hair and large, hollow eyes staring directly into what must have been the camera but now felt more like her soul. It was almost disturbing to look at, to be honest, and it sent shivers down her spine. With no small amount of effort, Naomi ripped her eyes from the photograph and redirected her gaze to the written information.

_Name: Ryuuzaki_

Naomi's brow crinkled in confusion. There was no last name written, or perhaps that was his last name, and there was no first name written. She read on.

_Gender: Male_

_Age: Assumed to be around 19-20_

_Social Security Number: Unknown_

Misora read through the rest of his file. Most of the information had been filled out similarly; everything was either inconclusive or unknown all together. Whoever Ryuuzaki was, he was a total mystery.

Two light knocks sounded on Naomi's office door. She placed the file back down on her desk and spun her chair around to face the door.

"Come in."

An old man in a suit entered the small room, glasses on his nose and a single strip of white-gray hair on his balding head.

"Dr. Watari!" Naomi exclaimed in surprise. Watari was the head of the team of doctors that worked in the adult psychiatric unit. He was an old man with gray hair and smile lines around his eyes. He tended to give off the air of being very sophisticated and important, but he was kind, and he cared for his patients.

"Dr. Misora," he said by way of greeting, making himself comfortable in the spare chair beside her desk. "I've come here to discuss our new patient, Ryuuzaki, with you, as you have been assigned his case. I assume from just reading over his file you have quite a few questions."

Naomi nodded. "Is this all we know about him?"

Watari sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. We picked him up from the police station. They seemed exceedingly eager to get rid of him."

"What about his name?" Naomi asked impatiently. "Does he have a birth certificate or a driver's license?"

Watari shook his head. "No identification of any sort was on him when he was arrested, and there was none among his personal belongings. His past has been investigated of course, but he wasn't in the computer system. Since he has no social security number, he doesn't even officially exist."

Watari paused, taking a breath. Naomi had taken a notepad and pen from her desk drawer and was scribbling the information down madly.

"We asked the residents of the apartment in which he formerly resided for any information they could give. The lady who lived next to him told us he seemed to go by Ryuuzaki. When further pressed she said he often introduced himself using different names, but Ryuuzaki seemed to be the most consistent of his aliases."

"Did she say what other aliases he used?" Naomi asked.

"No," Watari responded indifferently. "She seemed reluctant to give us more information. So we entered the name Ryuuzaki into the database and to our amazement, came upon his picture. From there we were able to figure out some of his past names. Ryuuga, Eraldo Coil," Watari listed, "and Deneuve are the ones we're aware of." He sat back in the chair, pressing his fingertips together.

Naomi finished writing and glanced at the doctor with a perplexed expression on her face.

"And is there a possible diagnosis?"

"Well, you tell me."

Naomi bit her lower lip, seriously tempted to roll her eyes. She wasn't a rookie; she didn't need a test to decide if she could properly diagnose a patient.

"Well, it sounds like either Dissociative Identity Disorder or Schizophrenia."

Watari nodded and smiled, spider web lines deepening around his eyes.

"Ah, there's one more thing you should know about."

"What is that?"

"A few days after intake we had Ryuuzaki take an IQ test. The results were truly remarkable; his IQ is off the charts. A few things have been noted as particularly interesting. When asked to describe the color red, he said…" Watari shuffled through the report he had brought with him. "He said it was 'a color evoked by the transfer of photons of the longest wavelengths discernible to the human eye,'" Watari read off the sheet, "'ranging from 625 – 750 nanometers.'"

Watari glanced at the sheet of paper, adjusting his glasses. Naomi looked impressed.

"However, when asked to describe the concept 'love', he was unable to articulate an answer."

Naomi shook her head. "Just… wow. If you don't mind me being honest-"

"I welcome honesty," Watari cut in.

"Well, in that case, this seems completely overwhelming. I've never worked with someone like this before…"

"I simply told you these things so you could have a better idea of your case, not to bewilder you with information," Watari said kindly.

"I know," Naomi intoned.

Watari rose from his seat, knees creaking tiredly, and Naomi winced, suddenly reminded of exactly how old the man must be. She briefly wondered why he hadn't yet retired - surely he had enough money. Perhaps he enjoyed his job. That was strange, in her opinion. You had to be at least a little unwell to want to work with the emotionally unstable.

As Watari opened the door to the hall Naomi turned in her chair once again, a sudden question popping into mind.

"Excuse me, Dr. Watari?"

"Yes," he asked, looking back at her, his hand still on the door knob.

"What exactly was Ryuuzaki arrested for?"

Watari froze, a pained look on his face.

"Manslaughter," he said, and walked out the office door.

*_C'est parfait, n'est-ce pas?_ _– It's perfect, don't you think?_


	2. My Name is L

**MY NAME IS L**

Naomi walked down the bland and brightly lit hallway, passing doors on both sides. None of the doors had handles on them, or windows. They easily could have been mistaken for part of the wall, if it wasn't for the ID slot in each door that constantly blinked red to show the door was indeed locked, and everything was in working order.

Most of the hospital wasn't like this. Generally patients could walk around or at least leave their rooms. This hallway (where Naomi specialized), however, was for patients who came in with severe enough problems that they needed to be in constant isolation. Some of them would eventually be able to move to the regular part of the psychiatric hospital, but some, usually the ones with severe psychosis, would have to be moved to residential living as soon as they were stabilized. So far, Naomi reflected, there had only been two cases where a patient was received in the isolation wing and left to return to an independent living situation, or at least one more independent than a group home. Something told her that this would most likely not be the case with Ryuuzaki.

As her thoughts landed on her newest patient, Naomi was jerked out of her ruminations. She had been looking for his room; at least, she was supposed to be. Naomi glanced down at the notepad she was carrying. She was also carrying a pen and a tape recorder. Apparently she had walked right past it. Naomi held back a sigh and turned around, counting the numbers on the doors to her right.

_1632, 1630, 1628, 162-_ Oh, right, it was room 1628. She slid her ID card quickly through the slot and waited as the machine processed, first turning yellow and then beeping softly and turning green as the door mechanically slid open. She entered the room, glancing around for the man she had seen in the photograph. He wasn't hard to find. He was sitting in the corner diagonal from the door, simply staring at her with a sort of passive interest. He looked a lot younger than he did in the photo. In the picture he had looked like a man. Seeing him now he seemed more like a boy. Of course, she noted, it could be due to the way he was so childishly displayed there on the floor, his legs curled up and his arms wrapped around himself, but he definitely appeared closer to nineteen rather than twenty. Even younger, possibly.

Naomi walked over to the chair by the desk and took a seat. She placed the tape recorder on the desk and left the notepad on her lap.

"Hello, Ryuuzaki. I'm Doctor Naomi Misora, your attending psychiatrist, but you can call me Naomi."

Naomi smiled. Ryuuzaki blinked.

"Naomi, then. It is a pleasure." He fidgeted with his feet, and then rather sporadically kicked one of his socks off. "I am L."

Naomi nodded. She had been expecting this, having prior knowledge of his array of previous aliases from his file. Of course, this was one that hadn't been mentioned. She wondered if 'L' had just surfaced now, or if it had been a former personality, if indeed these were personalities.

"Alright then, Elle," Naomi said, making a mark on her notepad and then setting up her tape recorder. "Do you mind if I record-"

L watched her scribble something down on the notepad. "It's _L," _he said, wanting to make sure she had gotten his name right. "Like the letter."

"Oh, okay. Sorry," Naomi said. L watched with satisfaction as she scratched something out and rewrote the correction in its place.

"Do you mind if I record the time we spend talking to each other today?"

L glanced at the tape recorder, then at the camera up in the corner of the room by the door, and then back at Naomi. Naomi bit her lip. It was a lot of security. She had to admit it was probably enough to make anyone paranoid.

"Yes."

The tape wasn't recording, but Naomi took it out of the player to make sure he could see she wasn't going to go back on her word. Developing trust with patients was important. "Okay."

L's eyes widened. Naomi assumed that meant surprise.

"It's your choice, really."

"Oh?" L asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Naomi was reminded of how frightening his eyes really were, like two button sized holes. It made her think of a quote. _"When you stare long into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you." …_Or something like that.

"I must've assumed that since I was coerced here involuntarily I wouldn't be given the option to make choices about the finer details of my living arrangements. And I was right; I can't even pick out my own toothpaste." Here L pouted. "Yet I can decide whether or not my therapy session is to be recorded?" L asked with some amount of incredulity.

L kicked his other sock off. He seemed to be trying to make it hit the ceiling. He looked disappointed when it fell short. "I trust you're more intelligent than the nurses, I'm sure you can work out the irony."

Naomi raised an eyebrow, despite herself. She had a rule that whenever she was with a patient she would not give in to feelings of annoyance or exasperation. She would remain in control, keep her cool.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I believe it is only right to apologize when you sincerely mean it, Dr. Misora."

"I do mean it, and you may call me Naomi."

"Anyway," Naomi shuffled through her notepad. L – Ryuuzaki, was turning out to be one heck of a kid to work with. Perhaps it was time to stop the useless banter and see if she could wrestle some real information out of him.

"L, first of all, do you know where you are?"

"I am not delusional, Naomi. This question seems unnecessary."

Naomi held back a sigh. "Please just answer the question. Consider it procedural."

"Wammy's House, somewhere near Sutton, London. I am unsure of the exact address as I was taken here, as I stated earlier, involuntarily, and thus did not have the chance to observe my whereabouts. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes," Naomi intoned, making another mark on her clipboard. She glanced back at L, who was shooting daggers at her with his eyes. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Onto the next question. "Do you know why you're here?"

This seemed to spark some real interest in L. His posture immediately straightened, although he didn't uncurl himself from his scrunched position, and his face visibly brightened.

"Yes," he deadpanned.

Naomi waited, poised on the edge of her chair. Seconds passed. Christ, he was frustrating.

"Would you care to explain?" Naomi asked, unable to keep the tone of derision from her voice. However, that only seemed to excite L.

"It's a long story," he said in warning, despite the fact that he looked positively delighted.

"That's alright. I have as much time as you need."

* * *

L sat hugging his knees in his normal corner, his left foot twitching in agitation. B was nowhere to be seen and L didn't like it at all. He didn't like it so much that his left foot was twitching, and there was a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. If B was gone then that meant he would be alone. He would be left to the mercy of the quiet that hung around Wammy's House, and it would be cloying and horrible and drive him insane. L did not need anyone. He was strictly self-reliant… but he needed B. He only needed B because it was cold here, and because of the memories that were harmless. But most of all, he needed B because without B he wouldn't be able to count the cracks.

L felt his panic begin to rise at the thought of the cracks. He gripped his shin tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

"B?" L ventured quietly, unsure of what to do. He did not like feeling uncertain; he took comfort in routine and familiarity, especially when everything around him was so unstable.

"B?" he asked again, this time louder and more clamorous in tone. There was no sign of his umbratic counterpart.

"B!" L nearly yelled, crouching on his toes, his eyes wide open and his neck craned forward.

"What?" B snapped. L's head turned sharply to the side. B was sitting to his left, mimicking L's position, his dark vermilion eyes sparkling.

"Where were you?" L asked. He sounded betrayed but was looking at B with suspicion.

"What do you mean?" B said, glowering. "I was here the entire time."

L looked disgruntled. "Well, I don't-"

They were interrupted by the door sliding open for the second time that day. A nurse walked in and B disappeared. This time his absence did not incite panic in the dark-haired anomaly, simply because early on they had made an agreement that every time someone entered the room one of them would disappear. It wouldn't do for a nurse or doctor to see them both there at the same time because they'd only end up separated, and it was obvious L couldn't handle that.

The nurse was pulling a blood pressure cuff and thermometer on a cart. She had long blond hair that hung in pigtails, and it tickled L's face as she leaned over to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his forearm.

"Time for your vitals, Ryuuzaki" she announced cheerily as she pressed the on button. The cuff began to tighten around L's arm.

He could feel his heartbeat as the cuff tightened, like a friendly reminder that he was still alive. The machine let out a long beep and the blond nurse removed the cuff from his arm. "Ninety over sixty," she read out loud. "Hmm," she intoned, pressing a manicured nail to her lips. "That seems awfully low."

She glanced at L with hazel eyes, a light pout on her plump lips. L stared up at her from his corner. "Well there's definitely a possibility of hypotension. I'll talk to the food staff – see if they can get more salt in your diet. Meanwhile, I guess I'll be taking your vitals more often now, just to make sure things are okay…" She smiled brightly. "That means you'll get to see even more of me! And we should probably check your weight again. You seem even thinner than you were before."

There was no response from L. The nurse may as well have been talking to herself, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"Okay, sweetie, time for your temperature."

L grabbed the thermometer from her. He did not need help putting it in his mouth. The blond nurse hummed while they waited. L attempted the best glare he could manage with a thermometer in his mouth.

"It's normal," the blond nurse stated, placing the thermometer back on the cart. "I just have a few questions for you now." She waited for a reply from the black-haired patient, but continued speaking after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Can you tell me in just a short sentence how you are feeling physically and mentally?"

L racked his mind for the biggest words he knew.

"Psychologically, I am sesquipedalian, and corporeally, I am feeling rather lackadaisical."

L blinked innocently. Sadly, there was nothing better to do than toy with the asinine.

* * *

B reappeared as soon as the door had slid shut behind the blond nurse and they were alone again.

"Did you see her eyes?" he asked, obviously referring to the nurse that had just come in to take L's vitals.

"Yes," L deadpanned, curious as to where the conversation was heading. He was excessively observant, down to the last detail.

"It was remarkable, wasn't it?" B remarked with obvious excitement.

"Remarkable?"

"Didn't you see it?" B asked, quickly becoming confused. "Her eyes were fuchsia."

"No they weren't," L argued, "They were hazel."

B looked disappointed, almost hurt. "You didn't see it?"

L shrugged.

"They were like my eyes," he said. The statement captured L's attention. "Except fuchsia. You can see my eyes, right?"

L stared into the wide, vermillion depths of his companion's eyes. In the murky dark red of the iris and the black of the pupil L could see his reflection, like a mirror. Except the image was distorted and disproportioned. He ripped his eyes away. "Of course."

"Her eyes were fuchsia," B said, as if in confirmation.

L nodded. He remembered seeing the nurse. She'd had long blond hair in pigtails, plump, pouting lips, and large fuchsia eyes. How could he have forgotten?

* * *

It was late in the evening, some time after B and L had counted the cracks in the ceiling. They counted the cracks everyday to make sure there were one thousand six hundred and twenty-eight of them. L was lounging against the wall, somewhat more spread out than usual due to the comfort their counting ritual brought him, and B was biting furiously at his fingernails. L closed his eyes, letting his head loll against the wall. He felt relaxed and at ease, almost as if he were free of all responsibility.

He imagined he was on a cloud. He floated out the locked door, past the stains and the bathroom, and his bed. He flew past the purple-eyed nurse with her blood pressure cuff and waved to his doctor, Naomi, as he turned the corner in the hall. He began to count down as he flew – _1628, 1627, 1626, 1625_ – When he had gotten to 1223 he was interrupted by the feeling of B's eyes on his face. Angry at being awoken from such a pleasant dream, L slowly opened his own eyes and looked up. B sat crouched directly in front of him, blood dripping down his fingers from his broken fingernails and dripping in rivulets over his lips. The hue of the dark liquid matched his lurid eyes.

"Why did you tell her?" he asked grievously. He shook his head, wild black hair whirling and blood splattering on L's face.

* * *

"_That's alright. I have as much time as you need," Naomi reassured unnecessarily. She had a feeling Ryuuzaki would tell his story – with time or without._

_L settled down into his corner, some of the excitement fading from his features. He seemed to be thinking. _

"_I suppose," he began slowly, "That it all started with me being the greatest detective in the world."_

"_The greatest detective in the world?" Naomi repeated dumbly._

"_Yes," L said, as if he were stating the obvious._

"_What makes you the greatest detective in the world?" Naomi asked, once more making notes on her clipboard._

_L seemed slightly annoyed at having to prove his worth. _

"_I am L," he said, as if that answered the question. When Naomi gave him a confused look he added, "And I can speak French."_

_Naomi stopped writing and shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. This was making no sense at all. _

"_What does you being L have to do with being the best detective in the world?"_

"_It's the _greatest _detective," L corrected, "And if you stop asking questions it will be easier for me to explain."_

_Naomi pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing dangerously. There were a million things she wanted to say to him at the moment. It was unfortunate that saying them would get her fired._

"_By all means then, explain."_

"_I am working on a case. It is very dangerous, and secret."_

_Naomi had to bite her lip to keep herself from asking a question. _

"_It stands to reason that I must be here because they found out about the case." _

_Naomi nodded. "Can you give more details?" she urged._

"_Well…" L said, and it was if a dam had been broken. "I didn't become a detective by choice; it seems circumstances just pushed me into the position. People are being murdered," he said with emphasis, "and no one cares to do much of anything about it. For the sake of justice, I will do what others will not."_

_Naomi just nodded again, while making sure she had written everything down correctly. She didn't want to impede his flow._

"_Therefore, I am the greatest detective in the world because I am the only one who can solve this case, seeing that no one else has the perseverance or intelligence to do so," L stated solemnly._

_Naomi waited a few seconds to make sure he was finished speaking. When L began to chew on his thumbnail Naomi asked, "How do you know people are being murdered?" Her pen was poised above her notepad. This was an important question._

_L brought his thumb down from his mouth and slowly focused his attention back on her. He seemed to be growing somewhat excited again._

"_I've _seen _them. Only, I've never seen them actually _being_ killed, I just come across them dead. If I'd seen them being killed, then I'd know who the killer was."_

"_So you just find yourself in front of dead bodies," Naomi stated. L nodded._

"_I think," L began, lowering his voice so much that Naomi had to lean forward in her chair to hear, "That the killer has the ability… to make things happen." He shook his wild, shaggy head. "I know you're not going to believe me."_

"_I'm not going to judge anything you have to say," Naomi said, attempting to sound sincere and probably failing._

_L continued none the less. "He can kill without ever coming in contact with the victim. When I'm by the bodies it's obvious that they're freshly killed, yet there is no other person within a half kilometer radius. There are no clues as well, no footprints, nothing. Also-" Here L looked absolutely terrified. The sight struck something inside Naomi's heart. "I think the killer can control my mind. I think I _do_ see them being killed, but he erases that part of my memory. He does it because I see him too, and he doesn't want me to know who he is."_

_There was a large lump growing in Naomi's throat. When she had come into his room a little over an hour ago, Ryuuzaki had seemed confident, if not a little pretentious and indignant. Now he seemed small and frightened and even more childlike. Naomi held back a sigh, her mind whirling from the amount of information she had just received. She smiled warmly at him._

"_Thank you, L. You did well today."_


End file.
